


I'll Big Bone You

by softpinksugar



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Barebacking, Belly Kink, Cuddling & Snuggling, M/M, Schmoop, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-06
Updated: 2013-01-06
Packaged: 2017-11-23 23:05:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/627494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softpinksugar/pseuds/softpinksugar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PWP, Chubby!Dean topping needy Sam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Big Bone You

“C’mere,” Dean tries to pull Sasquatch across the few inches separating them. He’s just crawled into the Sam’s bed, naked, and the sheets are cold but Sam’s warm. “It’s fuckin freezing.”  
  
“Get your feet off me!” Sam bitches, startled when Dean tries to warm them up. “Only thing warm on you’s your belly.” Sam reaches out to wrap his arms around Dean’s wide, warm girth. “Must be all the fat.”  
  
“It’s my winter weight. Besides, my dick’s warm, Sammy. Hot, even. Here, lemme show you.”  
  
But Sam, big moose who shouldn’t talk smack like that, nudges Dean on his side over to slide up behind him like a fucking _spoon_  and rubs Dean’s stomach instead. It feels good. Shit, it feels fine, but Dean doesn’t want the attention. Not there, and no way does he want to talk about his extra weight, good as it feels. Sexy and turned on and as good as it feels to be all full and sated and just…  _good_  inside, with Sam rubbing his belly like that. “Cut it out, man.” He pushes Sam’s hand away.  
  
“It’s for luck.” Sam grins, Dean can feel it against his shoulder and yeah, he knows he’s let himself go a little but it just feels right, okay? Things are better now, and he can actually relax a little and give up some of the late-night grave digging shitfest that kept him leaner, edgier. He knows he’s bigger than he used to be, softer and rounder but Sam doesn’t have to keep talking about it. “Buddha belly and all,” Sam says, whispering into his ear.   
  
“You just like to touch me,” Dean says, rolling his face into the pillow. “And my feet are still cold.” He angles one foot up to put on Sam’s calf and Sam jerks away. “Aw, Sammy, come on.”  
  
“Quit bitching,” Sam says, and kisses his neck to shut him up. Dean turns, twists around and kisses back, takes what Sam gives him. It starts slow but then Sam’s tongue slides in, rough and hungry, and Dean sucks on it, letting his brother give him the kind of kisses Sam likes, the kind Sam needs. Dean needs something too tonight, and he really wants to get it.  
  
It’s not like they always fuck or anything, they don’t. More often than not, they don’t. Hell, sometimes they don’t even jerk each other off, just end up splayed out in the same bed, snoring because they’re too wiped out or one of them (Dean) drank too much. But tonight he’s not drunk, he’s just nice and relaxed and happy and fine, and Christ he hopes Sam is too. Because he really wants to fuck him.   
  
“What?” Sam said, suddenly opens his eyes because sometimes Dean says things he only meant to be thinking. But Sam’s kinda into it, because he smiles a little, then messes with him, so soft Dean feels more than hears it, against his mouth. “Tell me how much you want it then, Dean.”  
  
“Want it so bad, Sammy,” Dean whispers back between kisses – the soft, sweet kind  _he_  likes, the kind where his mouth just kind of eases against Sam’s, working his lips apart the way he’s gonna work him open and sweet for his dick. “Gonna do you so good.” He rolls toward the nightstand and opens the drawer.   
  
“Hey,” Sam says. “Dude, I didn’t say yeah.”  
  
“Come on, Sam. We both know you want it.” Dean gets the lube in one hand and climbs, panting a little with the exertion, between his brother’s legs, his belly swaying a little between the two of him. He’s propped himself up some, trying not to put all of his weight on Sam, so just the slightest bulge of his stomach is rubbing against his brother’s tree-trunk thighs.   
  
“Don’t be a dick, Dean.” Sam puts his hands on Dean’s arms, on the fleshiest part, the soft padding that covers his biceps, and pushes, but Dean’s not budging.   
  
“Nuh uh, Sammy.” He bends down to kiss him some more, make Sam agreeable and pliable, and feels all that skin, his own against his brother’s warmth, chest to groin. It feels good. It feels like home and it feels warm and good and safe like nothing else. “You love my dick.” He leans down, pillows Sam’s head with his arm, kisses him some more.  
  
“Dude, you’re heavy,” Sam says, but it’s just token.  
  
“More of me to love, Sammy.” Dean pushes up a little to get some working room and his hand sculpts up and down Sam’s flanks, soothing him and lulling. Sam lets him kiss him soft and easy, because sometimes, every six months when the freaking moon’s in the seventh house or whatever and Dean’s on top, some switch in Sam just kind of shifts, and he’s all easy and shit. So that’s nice and fuck, Dean loves kissing. He loves it because it’s awesome and because it pays off to rev ‘em up and when his hand finally finds Sam’s awesome dick, wet as a girl, Sam groans into his mouth and then he knows he’s home free.   
  
“Yeah, sweetheart,” Dean says, just like he’s talking to some chick he picked up in a bar, smooth and sweet and as confident as anything. And it’s just the way Sammy likes it on these nights, even though he’d never admit. He’d never, ever admit it but he doesn’t freaking have to because Sam’s big beautiful Sasquatch-dick’s pulsing out little blurts of precome. Maybe from the kissing, maybe from the sweet talk, and that right there makes Dean so hot he leans in to test his theory, whole body against his brother. “Gonna give it to you, Sammy,” he says, mouthing along Sam’s collarbone. “Fuck you so good like you need it.” Sam doesn’t say a word, eyes screwed shut but Dean’s not an idiot and he can feel his brother’s heart race, breath catch, see the color rise on his chest. “You can’t even help it that you need it, can you Sammy?” Dean says, pushing. Then, “Tell me you want it, sweetheart,” and he pulls back, brings his hand to Sam’s face, petting his cheek. “Come on, baby boy,” he whispers. “Just one word and you can have it.” He swipes his thumb over Sam’s cock and Sam shudders. “Look at you, sweetheart,” he says, watching Sam’s face, eyes closed shut. “So big and just pearling out at the tip, Sammy.” He brings his shining thumb up and traces it against Sam’s lower lip. “One word, honey, and you can have what you need.”  
  
“Fucker,” Sam whispers, but he’s smiling, just the tiniest bit, as Dean’s thumb pushes over his lower lip, just the tip. Sam takes it, sucks, but only for a second. “In love with yourself much?”  
  
“What’s that, Sammy?” Dean’s tongue teases out, licking the taste of Sam off Sam’s lip. He pulls back to wait, elbow propped beside Sam’s head, other hand jerking his brother. “I didn’t hear you there.” His own voice is husky and soft. “You know, over the sound of your dick getting hard enough to pound nails.”  
  
“Fucker,” Sam whispers back. “Heavy-ass fucker.” And, “That doesn’t even make sense.” But yeah, he’s hard as a rock and turned on as hell.   
  
“Nice vocabulary, college boy.” Dean winks down at him. “Close, baby,” he says. “But no cigar.” He squeezes and twists on the upstroke and Sam’s dick jerks in his hand; shoves his own hard-on against Sam’s thigh for emphasis and Sam groans.   
  
“Asshole,” Sam says, shutting his eyes. But ‘asshole’ ain’t no and the next word is “ _Yes_ ,” and Dean doesn’t need to be asked twice. Not now when they both need it and Sam’s panting for it because he finally let go enough to say it out loud.  
  
“Good boy.” Dean kisses him again and starts working him open, fingers slick. Slow at first but not for long, because Sam’s too turned on, can’t wait, and soon Sam’s spreading for him, fucking back onto his hand, arching up and hitting the soft round bulge of his stomach with every little move. So Dean helps him, hand behind and under him, and he slicks his dick and slides it in.   
  
Sam groans again, low and sweet and yeah, Sam’s loving it, eyes rolling back, hips jerking up. He lifts his ass and seizes on his dick, just seizes up, and shit if that isn’t the hottest thing ever, Sam arching up to meet him and just pressing against him, pelvis to belly, while he’s got Dean inside him, fucked up his ass. “Yeah, baby,” Dean says, rubbing himself up and against Sam, who’s so turned on it’s just like all he can say is “yes” and “Dean” and a whole bunch of sounds that aren’t words at all and Dean’s fine with that, A-fucking-okay. He knows he can’t last, not now, and so he hauls back onto his knees, yanking Sam with him, hands tight on Sam’s ass, staying inside, and bridges Sam’s body up so he can fuck right in. His dick’s up inside his brother and his stomach is bouncing against Sam’s balls, wet with the drag of Sam’s dick and fuck he’s about to come but fuck if he’s gonna come first. He wraps his hand around Sam’s monster and it’s only a few strokes before Sam’s really making noise now, so much “Dean,” and “God” that Dean grins and bites his lip so he doesn’t make the joke about how he’s not God, just Dean, because who the fuck would do that when Sam’s at the point of no return and twisting and jerking under him.   
  
Sam cries out again and spurts all over Dean’s hand. Dean tries to catch it but Sam’s arcing high and a big glob hits Sammy’s chin. Dean almost laughs because atta boy, Sammy but now’s not the time, even if it was awesome. So Dean smiles and wipes the spunk on the sheet so he can plow him harder, stomach slapping against Sammy's balls with each thrust until his eyes cross and he can’t hold out a second longer and Dean’s coming too, shooting hot and wet up into Sam, filling him up so hard he’ll still be leaking him tomorrow.   
  
After a minute he pulls out, swipes them both off with a corner of the sheet and falls back on his back, panting beside Sam and a couple minutes after that Sam rolls onto his side, facing Dean. Sam reaches over, petting down Dean’s still-heaving chest, letting his palm splay, big and warm on his belly. Dean sighs. And this time he doesn’t push it away, just covers Sam’s hand with his own. Sam crashes first, Dean can hear the way his breathing changes, but the hand doesn’t move, and Dean lets it lie there on the round rise of his stomach, sated and content, his own hand holding Sam’s, as he drifts off to sleep.


End file.
